“Do you know him, Mr. Rooney?”
“I do not,” Mr. Rooney flapped his arms dismally. “I don’t need to know a man of his reputation in order to flay him in print, Mr. Putney.”
“He’s a bad egg,” put in Amos.
“Bad?” Putney lifted his brows. “He’d just as soon kill you as to look at you. If I was running a newspaper, I’d either say nice things about a killer, or I’d say nothing.”
“What satisfaction is your opinion to me?” demanded the harassed editor. “How can we stop him from coming here?”
“We?” Putney shook his head. “He has nothing against me. I have never seen the man in my life. This is a case for the sheriff—not an attorney.”
“Sheriff!” The editor spat angrily. “He and I do not speak. I wrote an editorial about the inefficiency of our sheriff’s office, and⸺”
“Now he won’t help you save your life, eh?”
“It amounts to that, Mr. Putney.”
“You might apologize to Cloudy McGee, Mr. Rooney.”